


Birthday Getaway

by TheSuccubiQueen



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Birthday Sex, Bondage, F/M, Marathon Sex, Sexual, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSuccubiQueen/pseuds/TheSuccubiQueen
Summary: It's Lucifer's Birthday, and the Lord of Pride has planned a weekend getaway for the two of you so he can have some much-needed stress relief!
Relationships: Lucifer/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 123





	Birthday Getaway

“Happy Birthday Lucifer!” You all cheer, as he looks at the messy cake you spent all day making. It truly is a wreck, and after you made a mess putting the icing on too soon, you realized it would have been much less effort and much more impressive to just order one from Ristorante 6, but Lucifer keeps acting like it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him.

He’s just too sweet sometimes. 

He blows out the candles on the cake, his eyes meeting yours with the slightest smirk, and you feel your stomach drop. You don’t meet his eyes, trying not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how quickly he can turn you on with just a glance.   
  
But unsurprisingly, Lucifer’s always been smart enough to know when he’s got you hooked.

Less than an hour later, you’re in his room, settled into his lap, peppering kiss all across his mouth, his throat, his perfect jawline. On occasion, you’re brave enough to sneak in a quick bite, but he’s always quick to warn you off with a low hiss and a tug at his fingers in your hair.

“Awww, I thought you liked it when I got naughty?” You whisper in his ear, your teeth grazing the shell of his ear. 

“Insolent as ever… even on my birthday.” He pulls your head back, dragging his mouth down your throat, and you mewl at the pressure of his teeth. You laugh as he begins to assail you with kisses, all across your exposed collarbone and shoulder.

You manage to wriggle out of his arms long enough to capture his attention. You finger the charm of your new necklace, the feather shaped charm still a new sensation on your skin. “Do you want your birthday present now? Or?” You’re not sure what the “or” is, but Lucifer’s been hinting for at least two weeks now that you weren’t allowed to have any plans tomorrow.    
  
Maybe he’ll finally tell you what he has planned for you.

“It can wait for a bit longer. I’m still not finished enjoying this present.” He tries to pull you back to his lips, but you wriggle away again.    
  
“I’m serious, Lucifer. What are you planning?” You fix your face in the deepest pout you can muster, trying to resist the intense heated gaze he’s fixing you with.

“It’s nothing too extravagant.” He stands, picking you up with him, and you fall forward against his chest at the sudden shift. He turns, setting you on the bed, leaning you back against the bed and setting your arms above you head. “I just thought the two of us might go camping.”   
  
You frown, skepticism coloring your face. “Us? Camping?” Lucifer didn’t exactly strike you as the type for roughing it.

He rolls his eyes, loosening his tie, and begins to undo the buttons on his shirt. You bite your lower lip as you watch black fabric give way to porcelain white skin, thinking of all the red marks you’re going to leave on him. “In the loosest sense. There’s a little cabin Diavolo owns out towards the mountains. He’s agreed to lend it to me for a short while. I thought we could use the escape.” He lowers himself on top of you, kissing you as you frantically undo his pants, desperate to have him naked on top of you.

“Oh, we’ll have to leave early…” You whine, as his hands caress your hips. “And I haven’t packed…”

“You’re welcome to spend the night here in my room, and I’ll make sure you don’t oversleep…” He lifts your skirt, hands sliding up your legs to pull off your panties, only for him to realize you’re not wearing any.

You grin wickedly at him, drinking in the monetary surprise that colors his face. “I’m just a gift that keeps on giving.”

He spreads your legs, his eyes setting your whole body on fire. “You certainly are.”

* * *

The next morning, he does, in fact, not let you oversleep, and you’re hastily packing clothes for the weekend an hour earlier than you normally would have been up for classes. 

The things you do for love.

You’re out of the house before the rest of the brother’s are even up, hand in Lucifer’s as he eyes your bag. “You actually packed?”   
  


“Y-yeah? I wasn’t sure what to wear…” You adjust the hem of your sundress, suddenly self-consious.

He gives you that awful secretive smirk, and you’re blushing even before he whispers in your ear. “Oh, I was just a little confused, since you know you won’t be in need of clothing this weekend.”

You can practically feel steam blowing out of your ears as he opens the car door for you. 

The drive up to the mountains is long, made even longer by the way Lucifer’s hand keeps sneaking further and further up your leg as you travel. You try to distract yourself with books, your DDD, the scenery, but every time you actually manage to take your focus off his gloved hand, he moves it along your skin, further up your thigh, dragging your focus back to him.

The bastard.

It actually is a _little_ cabin- you were expecting something extravagant, given Diavolo, but it’s really just a small house built into the side of the mountain- maybe one or two bedrooms?   
  
You don’t have much time to check out the interior, however. You’ve only just made it in the door with your bag before Lucifer scoops you up, dropping you on the couch and pinning you against it.

You let out a defeated sigh as both your wrists end up trapped under his one hand, his other sliding your underwear off, throwing one of your legs over the back of the couch, and smiling down at you. “You were so sensible about this yesterday…” He hasn’t even bothered to take off his gloves, and the way the leather pulls at your skin, so unfeeling compared to his hands, as you week.

You glower at him. “I thought we were going to have a nice little trip not-” You bite back a cry as his gloved hand runs along your labia, where you’re already wet from the anticipation of the agonizingly long trip. The sensation of the leather is rougher than his fingers normally are, but he’s still so tantalizingly gentle with you.

“‘Not’, what, Y/N?” Lucifer asks, sliding his index finger up and down you, that irritating smirk stuck to his face as he tortures you. 

You groan, a mix between aggravation and pleasure. “You know what I mean.”

“You’re going to have to be more clear.” He grins again, one finger slipping into you, your back arching as you let out a cry.

“K- kind of hard when you’re making it hard to think.” You hiss, as you lift your leg from where it’s slung over the couch, setting it on his shoulder, urging him closer with your calf. Your hips are already rolling against his finger, demanding more.

  
Lucifer is surprisingly generous, lazily pumping his finger in and out of your already soaked pussy, his eyes focused on your face in a way that makes you feel so vulnerable. He knows you hate him for it, just watching you while he plays you like a fiddle. 

It’s even worse when he points it out, leaning over you so that all you see is that possessive look he saves only for you. “You’re really so filthy, aren’t you. I don’t even have you undressed and you’re already so desperate. Not even so much as a kiss.”   
  
You whine, trying to look anyways to escape his eyes that make you feel so small. “Lucifer-”   
  
“Do you want more, darling?” He asked, smiling as innocently as he possibly can, as though he isn’t the one withholding what you want, those merciless leather covered fingers torturing you. His thumb pressed down on your clitoris, and a small scream escapes you at sensation.

“Yes, p-please, Lucifer-” you ask, squirming against his hand, your skirt well above your waist at this point.

He doesn’t even let you finish speaking, another finger slipping into you as he ups the pace, the harsh sensation of his thumb rubbing back and forth across your clit making your brain go fuzzy.

He feels the beginning of you orgasm before even you, it seems, and, still just looking down at you, he croons, “There is it, beautiful. Come undone for me.”

You don’t need any encouragement, your whole body spasming into his hand as you orgasm. Even as you stiffen with the waves of pleasure, his fingers pump into you, his eyes never leave your face.

As your final spasms die, you find yourself overcome with embarrassment. You’re still in your dress, the door to the cabin is half open, and Lucifer’s already had his way with you once.

But he’s still got your wrists pinned, and he’s still fixing you with that predatory look. You begin to realize it really is going to be a very long day. 

“Did you enjoy that?” His lips are dangerously close to yours, but still too far for you to reach for a kiss. There’s no tenderness here, and you’re both scared and excited for what’s to come.

“I did.” You admit, looking up at him through your lashes, and nodding.

“Then you’ll enjoy what’s next.” There’s that aggravating smirk again, and he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling pathetically empty.

He holds his gloved hand up to your lips, leather slick with your arousal. The command in his eyes is undeniable, and you couldn’t disobey him if you wanted to. You open your mouth, letting him slide his finger past your tongue, the taste of leather mixed with your own flavor. 

For a few minutes, he’s content to just fuck your mouth with his fingers, manipulating your tongue until you’re drooling around him.

But Lucifer’s never content for long. He pulls his finger out of your mouth, just barely. “Take it off.”

You bite the tip of the glove's middle finger, holding it as he pulls his hand away. Eyes fixed on you, he pulls his tie off in one smooth movement, wrapping it around your wrists in a quick knot.

He takes the glove from between your teeth, before his still gloved hand grabs your jaw, forcing your mouth open just enough to shove the glove in your mouth, gagging you.

He sits back, admiring you, bound by his tie, gagged by his glove. “I had debated packing a few more.. Specialized tools, but there’s something so incredibly charming about makeshifts, don’t you think?”

You whimper around the leather filling your mouth, nodding slightly. Your whimper turns to a scream of distress when he slides off you, closing the front door, before turning to watch you again.

“Do you not like that?” You can hear the sadistic delight in his voice and you feel the blood rush between your legs in anticipation. “Maybe I should leave you like that for a bit.”

You thrash against the couch, your muffled pleading filling the room. You’ve been left to stew by Lucifer before, and who knows how long he’ll leave you like this?   
  
“Y/N, you’re so demanding today.” He tuts, taking off his cloak and hanging it up, taking his sweet time to unbutton his vest. "And we haven't even really gotten started." He’s careful to stay on the edge of your peripheral vision, not enough to fully see, but enough that you’re aware of what he’s doing at all times. Your focus follows him like he’s got you on a lead, dragging you around the room as he undresses.

Eventually, he comes back to you, sinking until he’s on the floor next to you on the couch, just looking at you. “Do you want me to fuck you into that couch?”

You nod violently, your head moving so fast you might give yourself whiplash. 

“That’s what I thought.” He says, and you shoot him a withering look. The controlling jerk.

He tilts you up so you’re sitting, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them off just enough to reveal his erection, the familiar, bead of pre-cum glistening at his tip. You feel your mouth water around the leather glove gagging you, the site of him making you desperate to wrap your lips around his cock, to taste him-    
  
He interrupts your fantasizing with a click of his tongue. “So impatient.” He lifts your legs, lining himself up with your entrance. How does he know what you’re thinking? “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll get there.” He leans into you, allowing you to wrap your bound hands around his neck, your finger resting between his shoulder blades over his shirt.

You scream around the gag as he thrusts into you, his hips crashing against yours. His eyes meet yours, the slightest check-in before he begins to move, setting a harsh pace into your already sensitive sex. 

Your hands dig into the fabric of his shirt, and you bite down on his glove, even as you bury your face in his shoulder. The noises you’re making border on the inhuman, as he hooks his arms under your hips, adjusting the angle so that he can push deeper into you.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, in that tone that just invites a witty retort, if you hadn’t been gagged. You just whimper, nodding into his shoulder instead.

He chuckles again, his lips not quite against your ear. Just the vibration of his voice is enough to make you weak, your head rolling back in bliss.

Eventually, he picks you up, so only your back is against the couch, most of your weight in his arms as he slams himself into you. You wrap your legs around his waist, desperate for any support, any contact even, besides his cock filling you, over and over again.

His thrusts become more erratic as his breathing picks up, and you’re mesmerized by seeing the way his jaw tightens as he come closer and closer to the edge.   
  
He gives you a look, his silent way of asking for permission, and you nod, through the blurry haze of your arousal. He drills himself into you, before slowing, pumping into you through his orgasm. 

He drops, more than sets you on the couch, pulling the glove out of your mouth, giving you a reprieve to breathe. “How are you, darling?” His bare hand caresses your face, and you lean into his touch. 

“Good.” You manage to get a word out between breaths.

“Good. Do you promise to behave if I untie you?” He gives you a small smile, as you nod vigorously. He frees your bound hands, rubbing your wrists lightly to make sure he hadn’t cut off your circulation. “Now, go unpack.”

* * *

You take your bag to the lavishly decorated bedroom, while Lucifer starts on lunch. The bed is perhaps larger than Lucifer’s own back in the House of Lamentation, with an elegant dresser to match and even a small reading chair. It’s all arranged around a dark fireplace with a decoratively carved mantle, that seems to be made of the same wood as the furniture.

You realize, taking your clothes out to put them in a drawer of the dresser, that Lucifer never gave you back your panties. You smooth your skirt down, and resolve to ask for them back.

You already know that’s a losing argument, but it’s his birthday. You can throw a few fights for him.

The smell of sauteing food wafts it’s way to your nose from the kitchen, and you meander your way over, eyes searching for wherever he discarded your underwear.

Eventually, you meet him in the kitchen, where he offers you a sunny smile. “Chicken florentine. Just Something simple.” It’s almost an apology, though the last time you checked chicken florentine was far from simple.

You stand on your tiptoes, going for a kiss, but he dodges smoothly, flashing a smirk. “Oh, no, darling. Not yet.”   
  
You pout. “That’s another thing of mine you’re keeping from me.”

His smirk widens. “Oh? What else am I keeping from you, my love?”

Your frown deepens. “You know exactly what.” And then you spot them, the black lace of your panties sticking out of his back pocket. You reach out to grab them, but he snatches your wrist, not even fully looking at you.

“I thought you said you would behave for me?” He turns to you, fixing you with a bright smile that contrasts the dark threat in his voice.

“I am behaving.” You reply, matter of fact, though the look you give him is full of mischief, daring him to challenge you.

“Oh, are you?” He set the spoon he was cooking with aside for a moment, grabbing your other wrist. He shifts, pressing your back against the counter of the kitchen, setting your hands on the cold marble. “Then don’t move.” He whispers in your ear, before returning to his cooking.

You stand there, for a moment, puzzled. What’s the benefit of making you stand there? 

It’s when he glides one hand up your inner thigh that you realize. His finger slips between your wet folds before you can even react, and you gasp as he teases your clitoris.

“L-lucifer-“ you try to stop him, but two of his fingers are already inside you, even as he focuses on the dish before him.

Fuck this ambidextrious jerk. You tilt your head back, your weak gasps and moan filling the kitchen over the sounds of cooking food as you try not to focus on the way his long fingers slide into you, on the hungry need for more pooling in your core with every lazy thrust of his wrist.

He doesn’t even look at you, even as you’re moaning and melting into the counter, your knees going weak as more and more of your weight is put into your hands on the counter, as Lucifer sends all the blood in your body pumping right to your aching pussy, still sensitive from the early sex but so, so desperate for more. 

Your eyes flutter closed as you focus on his fingers, the way he can get you so dizzy and weak with only this.

You’re inches from orgasming on his fingers, from becoming a complete mess right there on the kitchen counter when his fingers desert you, leaving you completely, painfully empty. You let out a pained cry, opening your eyes, ready to beg him to finish you off.

He’s standing in front of you, holding a spoon up to your lips. “Say aah.” For a moment, you don’t believe it, too consumed by the disappointment of your lost orgasm. He wants you to taste the food? Right now? 

But still you, you open your mouth obediently. As he slips the spoon in, he brings his own hands to his mouth, licking your essence off his fingers.

“How is it?” He asks.

“D-delicious.” You stammer, mesmerized by the sight of his tongue slipping over his long, elegant fingers.

“Yes. It is.” He’s not talking about the dish, and you realize… you couldn’t even process what it tasted like.

He grabs your wrist again, turning you around and bending you over the counter. You moan, anticipation filling every inch of you as you hear the metallic clip of his belt coming undone.

He lifts your skirt, running a hand over the skin of your ass, and you snicker. “What about the food?” You ask him, turning your head to peer at him with a taunting grin.

Your bravado falters as he presses into you, hands caressing your hips. “Lunch is finished. But I’m not done with you yet.”

Your fingers curl into fists, gripping at nothing as he presses into you from behind, the choked moan that escapes you eliciting a pleased chuckle from him. “If you do well, maybe I’ll give you back your underwear.”

You whine in frustration, but he’s already moving, your knees threatening to give out with each thrust, your arms turning to jelly at the way his cock slams into you just right with every thrust.

But you don’t buckle. You find the will to support yourself through his unrelenting thrusts, as his hips slam against your ass with no mercy.

One of his hands snakes its way up to your chest, groping your breast through your dress. Even through your bra, you squeak at the way his fingers massage you, his long fingers pressing against your nipple.

“Luci-Ah!“ you try to get words out, beg him to have mercy on you before you collapse beneath him, but your words are lost as he begins to fuck you even faster, driving himself into you like he's trying to split you in half.

You, once again, feel the tight coiling of your orgasm, and you won’t let him deny you again. “I’m gonna come-“ you tell him, even as you’re cut off by a particularly hard squeeze on your breast.

“I’ll tell you… when you can come.” He hisses between his heated breaths. “Just a bit longer. Just.. wait for me.” You nod, words failing you as he continues at that pace that makes your head spin.

You’re about to lose your mind when he finally gives you the order. “Y/N.” He growls. “Come with me.” He slams right into your g-post as he finishes inside you. Your feel yourself spasm around him as you orgasm, the way he feels even larger than he is as you ride the waves of pleasure, your whole body growing weak as you give in and collapse against the counter, the cool marble a relief on your overheated skin.

You feel him sink to his knees, licking at your thighs, up between your legs, and you whimper,. Normally, you’d beg for Lucifer to eat you out like this but he’s already overworking you and you know you’re got so much ahead of you. 

As much as it pains you, you whimper out a weak, “Please, Lucifer… give me a break. Just a short one.”

“Of course.” His whispers against your sex, before giving it a slow, agonizing lick that both pains your overstimulated clitoris and has you ready to go all over again.

“We haven’t had lunch yet.”

* * *

The break truly is short: You’ve barely finished eating before he’s dragging you back to the couch, settling you onto his lap.

For a moment, he just lets you rest against him, his head tucked against your shoulder while he skips the ads on a movie, a hand gently running along the skin of your arm. 

It’s when you turn to give him a kiss that you ruin it again, his hand pressing to your throat and pushing you away softly. “Now, now, my sweet. I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.”

He pulls down your sundress, exposing your bra, grabbing at a breast as he bites down against your collarbone. He unhooks your bra effortlessly, and you practically rip the lingerie off, desperate to have him touch you directly.

You cry out at the pain as he pinches your nipple, hard, while at the same time, his hand once again slips up your skirt. “Pay attention to the movie, Y/N.”

You both know that’s a futile effort, and in moments, he’s got you melting against him, teasing and torturing you with artful fingers.

Every time you reach the precipice of orgasm, his fingers desert you, and you sense his evil grin as you bite your lower lip and silently rage your way through another failed orgasm. 

And every single time, as soon as your breathing settles, as soon as you can focus again, he’s back at it, leaving your mind a haze as the cycle repeats itself.

But the time the credits are rolling, you can’t recall a damn thing about the movie. And you know somehow he’ll find a way to use that against you.

He brings his soaked fingers to your lips, and without a thought, you part your lips to him, savoring his fingers in your mouth, how delicious his skin tastes coated in your arousal. You moan as his fingers slide in and out of your mouth, fascinated by the way your eyelids flutter shut, at the way bliss and torment war on your face.

He slowly pulls his hand out of your mouth, admiring the way your tongue chases his finger, the long trail of saliva that connects you for a moment, before dripping hopelessly onto the couch between your legs.

He picks you up, standing and slinging you over his shoulder with no effort, not evening bothering to fix your dress. “I think that’s enough of a warm-up for you. Why don’t we take this to the bedroom?”

He sets you in the reading chair by the window, unbuttoning his shirt. You try to keep your cool, despite how completely on edge you are, but you can’t help but whimper a bit as this smooth skin becomes more and more exposed. 

You’ve never been so desperate to have your way with him, never wanted to lick every inch of his milky white skin so badly you could almost cry.

His shirt lands on the bed, and he curls a finger, silently ordering you to join him. You rise, walking over to him, under the spell of his beautiful eyes and assured aura.

He takes your hands, and puts them on the mantle of the fireplace, against a convenient shape that’s perfect for you to grip in your hands. “Don’t move.”

You obey, as he walks away, despite the agonizing curiosity that fills you. You're so wet and needy you can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, and he’s just going to leave you?

You heard the click of his briefcase, but resist the urge to turn, to know what he brought along for your weekend adventure.

You know you’ll know soon enough.

He approaches you again, sliding a rope around your wrists and tying them to the shape on the mantle. It’s a snug fit, but you’re still able to grip the dark wood in your fingers.

And then, finally, he pulls your dress down over your hips, leaving you naked. “Step out of it.” You do, and he picks up your dress, walking off again... 

Another painful moment when all you can hear is him shuffling around the room, the rustle of fabric from your dress.  You’ve never hated him more in your life, never wanted him so desperately.

You feel him approach, but it’s not him that finally touches you. It’s hard leather, the riding crop you’ve gotten so familiar with, tracing along your soaked pussy. You’re so hungry for sensation that you almost lose your composure and thrust against it. Instead, your hands grip the wood of the mantle tighter, until your knuckles turn white.

“We’re going to have a little quiz to see how much you’ve been behaving…” He begins, sliding the crop down one thigh, and up the other, always close enough that it excites you, drives you wild.

“Q-quiz?” You ask, already knowing you’re in trouble.   
  
“I told you to pay attention to the movie. I wonder if you were?” You can hear his twisted grin, and you groan, not from arousal, but more from frustration.

You’re so fucked.

“What was the movie called?” He asks, in a dark whisper, fully aware you have no clue.

You huff. “I don’t know.” You mentally brace yourself for the impact. But it doesn’t come right away.

You stand there for a moment, your whole body tense as a bowstring. It’s only when you give in, and attempt to turn to face him, your locked knees relaxing, that the crop cracks down on the flesh of your right buttcheek. You exhale at the impact, the untimely shock of it, the sting on your flesh. 

“Next question.” He moves on without a second thought, and you hear the soft bad of his feet against the plush rug. “What is the titular character’s profession?”

“I. Don’t. Know..” You say, through gritted teeth. The pain from the first impact is just beginning to bloom, a low hum of pain under the skin of your ass.

This crack of the crop comes faster. You’ve barely finished speaking before the sound of the impact fills the room, the acute pain on your rear so quick you almost doubt it happened.

It continues like that, you repeatedly insisting that you don’t know, and bracing yourself through each whip, biting down on your bottom lip so hard you think it might start to bleed.

You’re so dizzy from the pain and blood pumping in your ears that you can’t hear what Lucifer says next.

He cracks the whip, and you can't keep yourself from letting out a small scream at this one. “I asked you a question, Y/N” The crop slides under your chin, nudging your chin up. 

“Lucifer, I don’t fucking know.” You hiss. “I wasn’t paying attention. Can't you just beat me and get it over with?”

There’s a moment of silence, so deadly after the crack of the whip, filling your mind with the dark electricity of fear. “Is that what you want?” Lucifer whispers, so soft and so dark you can barely hear it over the sound of your heartbeat.

Another tense, awful moment of silence, before you breathe out a tiny “Yes.”

“Then ask for it.” Lucifer pulls the crop away, and your head drops.

You grip the mantle in your hands, unsure which would give way first- the wood or your fingers. “Please, beat me.”

“Be more specific.” The crop traces along the inside of your thighs, and you’re ashamed at how aroused you are. If he gave you even a kind word you would melt instantly. You want that so bad, want to please him, so that he’ll reward you.

You feel the hot sting of tears, both at the shame and at how completely awful he’s being to you right now. “Lucifer… please punish me.”

His satisfaction is obvious as he snatches the crop away from your legs. You’re ready, but you know you couldn’t possibly be ready, as you hear the whistle of the crop through the air.

Where before, he was deliberate, calculating with the crop, making sure to never hit the same place again, now he whips you with wild abandon, and each time it collides with a spot it’s hit before, you cry out, your back arching in a feeble attempt to escape the unrelenting lashes.

He eases up a little, and you whimper his name weakly, but he only laughs coldly, sending a chill down your spine. “You asked for this, darling. You didn’t bother to listen to me, and you asked me to punish you. The least you can do is behave through this.” The crop traces over the stinging flesh of your ass, across the aching spots that will soon be dark bruises.

You nod, as tears drip down your face. “Yes, Lucifer.”

“There’s a good girl.” His small praise is enough to break the dam on your flood of tears, even as on the final word, the whip collides with your thigh. You scream at the pain, but don’t move. You’re determined to please him now, even if you pass out to do it.

It hurts even more now, each crack so painful you see stars. You’re not sure if it hurts so much because he’s aiming for the red spots, or if at this point, the entirety of your ass and thighs is just one swollen red spot. You don’t really know, and at this point can’t be bothered to really think about anything other than how much it hurts.

You wonder if he can hit you hard enough with that crop to make you bleed, and the dark part of you that loves this wonders which would come first- would he break skin, or would you faint?

But Lucifer, as always, is keenly aware of your limits, and right as the first black spots begin to swarm your vision, the whipping stops, and you feel his chest press against your back, the fabric of his pants refreshing the sting that spreads from the top of your hips to your knees.

He doesn’t speak, his hands coming to yours and loosening the knot that ties you to the mantle, but not enough to completely unbind you. He pulls your wrists away from the wood, before fixing the knot so that you’re bound once more.

You find yourself being shoved onto the bed, the fancy embroidery on the duvet a new torture on your sensitive skin. You settle into the bed awkwardly, enraptured by the sight of Lucifer pulling off his pants and underwear. Honestly, your greatest pleasure in your relationship with him is getting to watch him strip, knowing that his dark eyes, smooth skin, and perfect dick are all for you.

You’re already spreading your legs as he climbs onto the bed on top of you, curling your knees around him, loving the way the length of his erection presses against the inside of your aching thigh.

“Y/N…” He whispers, sliding his cock into yo, the shift of his weight rubbing your sensitive skin against the hard threads of the duvet.

You can’t even muster the composure to say his name, all you can do is mewl pathetically as he slides into you, filling you so completely.

“You’re so beautiful…” he murmurs, beginning to move his hips, driving himself into you, while you struggle to breathe. You long to reach your arms out, run your hands along his perfect abs and smooth skin, but you truly don't have the strength.

He noticed, and grins, the sight somehow making you even weaker for him than before. “Don’t overwork yourself, darling.” He hooks his arms under your legs, adjusting you so he can drive himself deeper. “Just be a good little cock-sleeve for me.”   
  
Every thrust brings his hips against your aching thighs, moving you along the bedding that makes the pain on your rear sting like new, over and over again. You’re crying again, but the pain is nothing compared to how good Lucifer feels right now, how incredible it is to watch his composure finally slip away as he fucks you.

Eventually he drops one of your legs, shifting himself so that his face is level with yours. You hook your bound wrists around his head, tugging at his hair, scratching up the smooth skin of his neck and shoulders, finding every way you can respond to each one of his agonizing thrusts into you.

“Y/N…” he breathes, before finally, after what seems like a day of you begging and pleading, kissing you.

It’s probably the most perfect kiss Lucifer’s ever given you. You’re both so desperate for each other’s lips, the feeling of your tongues mingling. You revel in the taste of him, the way he kisses you until you’re literally breathless, giving you just enough time to inhale before his lips are back on yours, a hand coming up to caress your cheek, thumb stroking at the tears streaming down your face.   
  
It’s shockingly intense, how much pleasure you get from just kissing him, having him drill into you. You moan hungrily at his lips, knotting your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer, closer, like you want to inhale him.

At some point, you don’t even know, you’re so lost in each other, you orgasm, your cries of bliss silenced by Lucifer’s intense, unrelenting kiss. He doesn’t stop kissing you, and for a moment, your hips are still, the two of you just kissing at you ride out the final waves of your orgasms. 

Eventually, you both break for air, and he kisses your forehead, smoothing your hair where it’s fallen messily into your face. “How are you, love?” His hands pull apart the knot around your wrist, a satisfied grin at where the ropes have rubbed your skin raw.

You nod, smiling at him. “Words are hard.” You admit.

He chuckles, slipping his hands under your hips, sliding his fingers up from the small of your back to the backs of your knees. You hiss in pain, the high of the sex fading and leaving you acutely aware of the dull throbbing of your skin.

“Why don’t we take care of that?” Lucifer offers with a soft smile. “Can you walk?” 

You shake your head- walking is definitely _not_ something you can manage right now. 

He slides off the bed, and scoops you up in his arms, throwing you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. It’s not normal for him, and for a moment you’re confused, until he hooks his arms around your legs below your knees. “Let me know if I’m touching anywhere that hurts.” He says, carrying you to the bathroom.    
  
You blush, as he kicks open the door to the bathroom as sets you gently on the counter, the cool porcelain a welcome relief on your burning skin. He fills a glass of water in the tap, handing it to you, and giving you a kiss on the forehead.“Sit there for a moment.” He says, walking into the huge glass shower, and starting the water.

You sit on the counter, leaning your head back against the mirror, sipping at the cool water as your head finally comes down from its spinning high. Lucifer gives himself a quick rinse, and you relax into the familiar scent of his soap as it mingles with the steam that fills the room. The glass is clear enough that you can see him, and you admire his long limbs and muscles. He really is the most beautiful creature you've ever seen.

And he's all yours.

You’ve just finished your water when he steps out of the shower, his hair dripping wet, and offers you a hand. You take it, and stand on unsteady feet, letting him lead you into the tiled shower.

He’s all soft kisses and tracing fingers as you lean into him, letting him wash your body. It always marvels you how his hands can be so cold when he’s pinning you to whatever flat surface he can find, but so loving when he soaps up your body, or massages your scalp as he washes your hair. 

You turn so he can wash your back, and curl your arms around his waists, nuzzling into his chest. “I love you.” You look up at him, smiling.

He returns the smile, leaning down to kiss you. "I love you too." You smile into his lips, delighted at how willing he is to shower you with them after holding out all day.

Satisfied you’re all clean, he’s even more generous with the kisses, holding you in his arms and covering you in them until the hot water runs out.

Before you’ve even toweled off, he’s picking you up again, pulling the fancy duvet off the bed with one arm and setting you on the sheets. “Lay down.”   
  
You smile, figuring out his intentions, and give a playful “Yes, sir!” before rolling onto the bed, laying flat on your stomach, folding your arms in front of you to set your head on them.

He pulls out a jar of cream from his briefcase, and pops the lid off. The scent of lavender and menthol fills your senses before he’s even applying the cream, and when his fingers brush against the still stinging flesh of your skin, you let out a pleasant sigh, content to let him massage the healing balm into your bruised flesh.

As he massages you, taking care to focus not only on where he whipped you, but your strained legs, and across your back as well, he speaks. “How was it, darling? Are you feeling alright?”   
  
You turn your head to look at him, and smile. “It was really nice. Maybe next time don’t hold out on the kisses so much, though. I hated that part.”

He laughs. “If you keep insist on being so cheeky, next time I might have to hold out longer.” He teases, laughing over your protesting whine.

“You’re so meeeaaannn.” You cry, giving him an exaggerated pout.

“No, you’re just stubborn and refuse to behave.” He says simply. Satisfied with the work he’s done on your legs, his hands slide up to rub your shoulders- you weren’t even aware of how tense they were until his fingers begin to work at the aching muscle. 

“You love me because you get to punish me.” You retort back.

He leans in to kiss your cheek. “Admittedly.”

He runs his hands from your shoulder, down your back, right to your hips, where he gives you a playful squeeze. “Shall we have dinner? And then perhaps we can put that obstinate mouth of yours to good use. I think that would be an excellent present.”   
  
You grin wickedly at his suggestions. “Sounds like a great plan, birthday boy.” You sit up, about to demand that he carry you to the kitchen, when you freeze. “Wait, wait, wait! I never gave you your present!” You practically fall off the bed, scrambling to the drawer you’ve shoved your clothes in, and pull out a small jewelry box. “Happy birthday!”

Lucifer takes the box from you, opening it. You beam as he looks at the pin you got him, a white peacock feather with a blue gemstone sparkling at the top. “It uh.. It matches the necklace I was wearing last night…” You hadn’t worn it today, but you had noticed the way his eyes fell on it last night.

He smiles at you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into a deep kiss that has your toes curling. “I think dinner can wait a bit longer…” He whispers against your mouth.

You never make it to dinner, or even to sleep, but the large breakfast Lucifer makes, and the long nap you take on the drive home help make up for it.  
  
It's not until you're in your own bed that evening, about to catch up on much needed sleep, when you realize:  
  
He never gave you back your panties.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot more planned for this fic but it was getting long and I was running out of time so we'll just.... imply the rest of it.
> 
> Happy Birthday Lucifer! I think the game devs did more than enough to wish him a happy birthday, but I once again had a very specific idea for a fic and here we are!
> 
> I've got a few more fic ideas brewing right now, and I'll be participating in Obey Me Week on Twitter at the end of this month with the brilliant @nikkorrii!! Look forward to it!


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